“No, that’s another list. It usually is said there were forty-five in the party at St. Louis. You see the name ‘Francis Rivet and (French).’ That would make forty-five if French were a man French and not a Frenchman. But they always spoke of the voyagers as ‘the French.’ Anyhow, there’s the list of May 26, 1804.”
“Maybe they lost a man overboard somewhere,” suggested John.
“Not yet. They had a deserter or two, but that was farther up the river, and they caught one of these and gave him a good military trimming and expulsion, as we’ll see later. But this I suppose we may call the actual party that found our Great West for us. They are the Company of Volunteers for Northwestern Discovery.”
The three boys looked half in awe as they read over the names of these forgotten men.
“Yes. So there they were,” resumed Uncle Dick, gravely. “And here in the Journal the very first sentence says the party was ‘composed of robust, healthy, hardy young men.’ Well, that’s the sort I’ve got along with me, what?”
“But Uncle Dick—Uncle Dick—” broke in Jesse, excitedly, “your book is all wrong! Just look at the way the spelling is! It’s awful. It wasn’t that way in the copies we had.”
“That’s because this is a real and exact copy of what they really did write down,” said Uncle Dick. “Yours must have been one of the rewritten and much-edited volumes. To my mind, that’s a crime. Here’s the real thing.
“Listen!” he added, suddenly, holding the volume close to him. “Would you like to know something about those two young chaps, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, and what became of their Journals after they got home? You’d hardly believe it.”
“Tell us,” said Rob.